unknown psyche

&    i must of been about 10 years old, maybe 12, dad and i were headed down to phoenix, leaving flagstaff in the state of arizona. it was some time after the holidays in the month of january, the weather was the perfect picture reason so many folks were making new settlements here, from the bigger cities. my father was a contractor at the time & with the states rapid growth, times were good, although most of his time was spent working. i remember the trip, it was a big, brown, full sized chevy pickup truck and when we were on the road it was as though wherever we went, we needed to get there quickly. somewhere about 30 miles south of flagstaff there's a scenic overlook that captures the essence  beauty of the arizona desert. the view kept my attention mostly, which was good because dad and i never had much to say to one another, or rather, even in the quiet & salim times he'd be preoccupied with life's important priorities somehow. if the radio was on it would be talk radio, usually about the state of the nation and such, stuff that seemed questionable as to whether i would ever close the gap between being interested in it, or whatever my wandering imagination would be trying to focus on. he smoked a lot and had a distinct way in which he'd consume a cigarette, always keeping the cherry of it free from ash, the way he'd inhale it, deep, lower his chin a bit and look with a concentrated thought as he'd slowly exhale from his nostrils and nearly closed mouth, making a slight sound as the smoke & oxygen passed through his almost fully clamped teeth. the 120 mile commute to phoenix was a frequent one, & i think i always enjoyed it, or maybe i know now i should have, but as a child it's likely i bored easily. it's hard to remember, i can't be sure if it was more his lack of words or my silence that kept any or all conversation to a minimum. it seems i recall just knowing through the observation of just how engaged he was on getting done whatever it was he was doing, even traveling such distance. it was as if he was just too busy, even then, and i knew not to interrupt. perhaps that's where i started my busy task of thinking, only what, i can't say, but exploring the possibilities of wonder was an activity i often engaged with the capacity of my abundant imagination. but i do remember having my thoughts set on edge when occasionally out from the silence, dad would speak something random, yet intentional, like "a fuck, you do it or" and then it like mumble off something unrecognizable back into silence again. i think each time i would quickly say "what?!". and each time he would say "oh nothin, i'm just talkin to myself". i came to know such a behavior as nervous, anxious energy and having a hell of a lot on your mind.
    1998, 17 years later, i'm 28 and on the premeditated, without much hope for recourse, runaway freight train of a fast lane lifestyle that will have to crash hard, in order to find out where to go next. it wasn't too much pot & booze, sprinkled with an aching heart to approach this nervous breakdown, it was all of that, plus primarily a main staple diet of crack cocaine. now i'm an alcoholic / addict who first internalized this admission at age 19 when i so desperately wanted & needed, but could not stop pulling bongs of the most potent thc content, kind bud. by now i've done most everything available to my generation, been in & out of both court appointed & voluntary therapy, treatments & 12 step recovery efforts. at 28 & now hopelessly & pathetically hooked on smoking cocaine i've come a good bit around the bends of my life, but there is nothing & i mean nothing more addictive than the powerlessness of that shit, crack cocaine in it's thrall's is nothing less than the devil himself. it had been one full year of this & i was probably three months past my means, there was no way i was going to get out without a force of issue, of some type. by now i'm in the first couple months or so of a court stipulated diversion program that required bi-weekly counseling & random, weekly u.a.'s. somewhere's around six of which have come back dirty. now i've never been a successful hoodlum, i'm not a completely vicious, psychotic & sociopathic animal of the self seeking will. in such manipulation, i am not entirely without heart, i did apply myself to the theraputic objective & greatly hoped for the miracle that it would work. at the time ego & bragging rights were a non-issue but the desperation of my efforts are apparent, in a felony diversion, no-one get's six dirties without finishing the program in handcuffs, i'd never heard of more than two or three before someone went down, never again to freely have the priveladge to pay $25 a pop for the court mandated, group counseling. so when i failed the sixth, i went a-wall. i knew the cuffs were coming instead of a sessions receipt & i had to baile the program, i couldn't of been more totally aware of the fact that i was completely fucked.
    i don't think, in fact i was certain my dad knew nothing of my coke habbit & spoke nothing of my legal perdicament ofcourse. even the thought of doing so had no chance. nothing would threaten the opportunity of my dads loving generosity, affording the chance to cop. the pain, sadness & hurt we inflict on our most loved relationships, almost without conscience is incomprehensibly unfortunate. it's as if the deception is insignificant & trivial because it will provide the very love that's being betrayed & seems entirely normal & sane to us at the time we do it.
    soused, nearly being 86'd out of every establishment we attended in central city that day & evening, i made quite a drunken spectacle of myself. after about 3 years of no more than a phone call, few & far between since i'd seen my dad & by now he could probably equate i was in some trouble, but not to the degree i was. much time would pass sometimes where i'd not speak to mom or dad, my motto was "no news is better than bad news". so we were in the car going back down the mountain into downtown denver, when i said to my dad "hey dad you know when i was a kid & i'd hear you say something & ask what it was & you'd always reply, "nah nothing i'm just talkin to myself"? "do you remember that & i'd wonder?" he gave me a blank look like i was off & why the hell, what's the point in such a question, while i just quickly determined that he did remember, & knew exactly what i was referring to. i told him "well you know what dad, guess what, i finally figured out for myself exactly what that was all about"...